An Argument
by AdamineTerra
Summary: Arguments with Dorian often went about as shallow as his love for his physical appearance. With the same speed he could style his hair, he could come back looking for a reverse apology. Now, what was a reverse apology? Well, when it came between Svenus'saelin and Dorian it went something along the lines of Dorian entering the room in some state of flair. I replayed Inquisition...


**So... I got a little bored after replaying Inquisition.**

* * *

Arguments with Dorian often went about as shallow as his love for his physical appearance. With the same speed he could style his hair, he could come back looking for a reverse apology. Now, what was a reverse apology? Well, when it came between Svenus'saelin and Dorian it went something along the lines of Dorian entering the room in some state of flair.

Flair much like what Sven was glancing at over the edge of his book.

About four or five hours ago, Dorian had gotten fed up with Sven's lack of interest in going out. It was a common argument between them. A freshly washed and dried Dorian would slide into the room with skin and fashion sense that should have glistened in the sun. As he tucked in the remainders of his shirt's buttons, he would catch a glance at his sweatpants sporting lover.

Sven would often sit with a straw between his full lips and a bag of pork skins between his thighs and the bottom of the latest thriller novel. One leg would be casually tossed over an arm of his favorite leather gaming chair, and his hair would be twisted into a messy bun that hadn't seen a shower since the previous day.

That was when the argument would start.

"You're still not ready!" Dorian's voice would cry out across the living room.

"Gimme like…" Sven would flip a couple of pages of his novel. "One more chapter. I promise, and I'll get into the shower."

"The shower!" His voice would raise an octave as he marched over to snatch the book from Sven's grasp. "By the time that mess you call hair gets dried, we'll have missed the show and be an hour late to dinner with the others! They're expecting us by five, Svenus. Five. Not five thirty. Not six and a quarter. Five."

"Yup. Five. And it'll only take me…" Sven would glance to the clock and cluck his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Five minutes in the shower and thirty to dry my hair."

"Then five more to get dressed. You'll come out wearing something ridiculous, I'm sure, and then I'll have to dig through the closet to try and find _something_ that will either fit you or not make me look like I'm on a date with someone's little brother."

Sven would then proceed to reach back for his book, but Dorian would pull it away at the last second. "To be fair, I am someone's little brother. Besides, these are my good sweats. All I gotta do is toss on a shirt, and no one will know the difference."

"The difference," he would screech before shaking his head. The sassy stomp to put Sven's book neatly away on the shelf would only have Sven watching his lover's back end shift around in a pair of dress pants. There would be an unmistakable narrowing of his gaze when Dorian caught that distracted look in Sven's eyes. "Those sweatpants are covered in chip flavoring. There's a sheen of sweet heat barbecue on your crotch and not in a good way!"

"But you love sweet heat barbecue."

"On wings! Not your crusty, old sweatpants."

"Aye. Don't knock the crust. Besides, I washed 'em last week."

Fingers would pinch at the bridge between his nose, and while Sven's mind would drift to how cute Dorian looked when he was mad, Dorian would sigh, "I swear. I'm dating a teenager." After a change in tone, Dorian would shift from confrontation to surrender. "You know what. You win. You just won. Congrat-u-fucking-lations. I'm going to the theater alone. Or with someone else. I don't know who, but it will be someone who doesn't spend the day reading dime store thrillers on the good lounger."

"Aw. Don't be that way, Dorian. Give me some time and—"

It would be too late by that time. With a sport coat thrown over his shoulder, Dorian would scoop his keys out of the stone bowl that sat on the counter and already be making his way to the door. "I gave you time, and you chose to waste it with pork skin and erotica."

Then the door would shut, and Sven could only sigh, "It wasn't erotica this time, though."

After that, some time would pass. While Dorian was out enjoying his evening on the town with a best friend or newfound companion, Sven would hop in the shower, toss on a pair of beat up jeans, and throw on a tank top.

His evening would be spent at the store where he picked up the night's meal. Images would flash of Dorian laughing with friends and complaining about his loser boyfriend. A few glances at his smart phone would reveal that Dorian hadn't even taken the time to send him a message since he'd been out, but Sven wouldn't get upset.

Instead, he'd pick up the ingredients to that pasta Dorian liked then jump on his bike to head back to their apartment.

The flame would light up beneath the stovetop as Sven let a pot of noodles simmer in half full water. Hands would busily chop up garlic, chicken, and tomatoes. When it came time for Dorian to come back home for the night, Sven would have the pasta sitting on low, a couple of plates out on a dinner table not often eaten at, and twin roses sitting central beside a glass of wine.

After a while, the door would open up, and Sven would peer over the rim of his book.

It was just the shield he would need to hide his smile at Dorian safe and sound. All those attempts to keep from texting him an "I'm sorry" would be paid off at Dorian's five second look of guilt, but that guilt would be replaced by a flash of annoyance.

"You haven't even moved since I've been gone!" he'd cry out, curling his lip at Sven's toplessness and crusty, old sweats. Coming into the room with a brown paper bag at his side, Dorian would pick up the book, analyze it for a second, and then toss it on the coffee table. "If it takes you five hours to read three chapters, I'm glad I went out without you."

Sven's lips would curl when Dorian spun on his heel towards the kitchen. The brown bag would get placed roughly on the counter, and Dorian's aggravated eyes wouldn't even notice the pasta that had recently been made.

"So what'd ya get me?" Sven's deep voice would taunt. His hands would move to the sweatpants around his hips, pulling them off thanks to a variety of buttons that ran down the leg. A pair of blue jeans would be revealed, and he'd shrug into a button up.

"Tch. Like I would even think to get you…" Words would fade away when twin roses caught Dorian's smokey grey eyes. When he furrowed his brows and lifted his head, lines on his forehead would raise at fully dressed Sven standing in front of him.

Sven wouldn't even be looking at Dorian, though. Instead, his nose would be inside of the brown, paper bag where he'd pull out a wrapped box of his favorite candy. "Oh! Hell, yeah. I freakin' love choco—"

A hand would be slapped like a catholic school teacher hitting an unruly student. "Out! Out! Out! No one said those were for you. They might be for my secret lover."

"Oh, I see. A secret lover?" A thick, black brow would raise, and arms would slip around Dorian's hips. Their mouths would be inches apart when Sven askes, "Is he handsome?"

"Extremely."

"Describe him to me."

"Humph. Only because I want to see the look in your eyes when you get jealous."

"Me? Jealous. He'd better be something then."

"Oh, he is." A hand would run along Sven's thick, cocoa colored biceps, and Dorian would explain, "He has beautiful eyes the color of a beach sunset. And he's tall."

"Tall?"

"Very tall, but hardly taller than I am."

"He doesn't sound too impressive so far."

"Oh, but he is. I haven't even got to the good part." Dorian's wandering hands would glide higher to wrap in the long ponytail Sven had released after his shower. Wrapping a fistful of it in his hand, Dorian would let strands so black they reflected blue slip through his grasp. "His hair is silky and long. Perfect for wrapping my fists around when we're in bed together."

"Just in bed? He doesn't even sound adventurous." Powerful arms would flex, and an intake of breath would signal Dorian's body being lifted onto the countertop. Parting the other man's thighs, Sven would wedge himself between them and block Dorian in with his body. "If he only takes you in one place, I guess he's good at it?"

"Not just one place. The table, the chair, the shower, and the living room floor. He's also a good cook. Made me my favorite while we spent time together this evening."

"I see. Guess I'll be throwing all this out then." A long hand would gesture to the dinner setting and the cooktop beside them.

A nose would lift, and a cocky near smile would cross perfect lips. "I guess you will be. But not after a taste testing. I need to know which man to keep in my life. I have no interest in being saddled with someone who can't cook anything other than a grilled cheese."

Faking a wince, Sven would snicker, "Ouch. Low blow, babe."

Hands pressing against Sven's chest, Dorian's body would arch back to put some space between them. "Please, I left a life of luxury. Of wealthy and beautiful trinkets, clothing, and people. Do you really think I'd carelessly toss that aside for nothing? I haven't had anyone peel a grape for me in months."

"And is this secret lover worth leaving all that for?"

Leaning in, skin would touch skin. Lips brushing against Sven's mouth, Dorian would breath, "Ab-sol-utely."

"So… is this the part where you drag it out until I cry out 'Take me you, beautiful, kinky prince', or did I miss a cue?"

"I hate you."

"Oh, Dorian, say it again, but with a deep, breathy voice."

"I'm never allowing you to read erotica again."

"But it wasn't erotica!"


End file.
